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Eternally Connected

Compiled  by  Maggie Voss  

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This  is  for  my  family,  and  friends.  I  should  personally  thank  Calypso  and  Jessica  

You  guys  helped  me  compile  poems  that  are  meant  to  be  heard  from  mountaintops.      

 Love,    Maggie      

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 War  

                                       

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Glitter  In  The  Sky    

It was the loudest sound he'd ever heard, and just like that: he was transported back to a time that'd already occurred.

Sitting on a field, holding his fathers hand,

gazing at the sky, while out; played the band.

the sky was alight with glitter the sky was alight, so bright

and the boom of the fireworks left him in awe

as his father looked down, and smiled.

These were not fire works, though they were fires everywhere: ablaze.

The loudest sound he'd ever heard, sent his fellow soldiers flying.

He watched in terror as the shrapnel rained. The formation had been lost, and the bullets were flying,

and the air filled with the overwhelming sound; of mothers crying.

He radioed home, back to base,

and begged them to send reinforcements with haste, but it didn’t take long to realize,

that his efforts had been a waste. Over the radio,

only a scream was heard.

He'd never felt more alone, and more like a child.

Then he remembered looking up and seeing his fathers smile, and the glitter in the sky that left him in awe. Comforted him as death took him in its claws,

and the loudest sound he'd ever heard; became the last sound he'd ever heard. He just pretended he was back at the field with his father

just as he drifted away. Finally free, as a bird.

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BEACHES  OF  NORMANDY      

We  stormed  the  beaches  of  Normandy  without  knowing  the  gunshots  were  not  symbolic  of  greater  days,  but  the  end  of  many  lives.  

   

                                             

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Reaping  Willows    

Ice  skaters  whispering  to  tormented  flowers  Talking  about  the  last  drops  of  water  

And  dreaming  of  yesterday’s  procrastination  Fingers  tightly  curled,  resting  on  the  blackened  keys  

Waiting  for  another  day’s  hunger  to  subside    

While  watching  the  withering  fluorescent  lights  Beating  down  upon  the  fluffy  golden  skies  covered  with  dust  Realizing  that  this  wasn’t  tomorrow  but  a  depressed  today  

Wishing  wells  divulged  in  the  letters  that  were  never  received  By  the  men  with  holes  inside  their  heads  lying  down  

With  nothing  else  to  breathe  for    

I  prayed  for  all  of  them  Not  just  one  but  all  

Sirens  rang  for  the  golden  flames  My  brother,  I  tell  you  no  lie  

No  lie  This  day  shall  “live  in  infamy”  

 With  the  waters  rushing  over  

Scooping,  scrubbing  all  the  red  droplets  of  disparity  Away  we  go  Away  it  goes  

 When  they  find  the  fluorescent  clouds  

That  beat  down  upon  the  night  Dropping  heavy  bombs  

Heart  attacks  The  ice  skaters  torment  themselves  with  flowers  

Flowers  for  many  men  Many…  many  sad  men  

       

           

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Eager  To  Be  Brave    

The  same  little  boy  playing  with  marbles  in  the  dirt  with  his  friends  Is  now  playing  a  drum  on  the  field  for  his  country  

 Leaving  the  safety  of  his  mother’s  arms  to  join  the  battlefield,  

Marching  in  a  war  manifested  from  politics  that  were  not  his  own,  How  is  he  to  understand  the  reason  for  which  he  might  not  return  home?  

 A  child  too  young  to  bear  arms,  

But  old  enough  to  die  for  his  country    

None  of  this  crosses  his  mind  He  is  eager  to  be  brave  like  his  father  and  brothers  

There  is  a  sparkle  of  excitement  in  his  eyes  that  fuels  the  pounding  of  the  drum  he  has  strapped  to  his  body  

 Boldly  marching  forward,  the  beat  of  his  drum  pulsing  through  the  entire  regiment  

The  energy  of  this  fearless  child  driving  an  entire  army  to  battle    

The  first  shots  are  fired  Still  he  marches  on  

 A  stray  bullet  finds  his  chest,  

With  a  gasp,  he  is  thrown  off  his  feet  Crumpled  on  the  ground,  

With  the  ghost  of  excitement  still  left  in  his  eyes,  And  his  heartbeat  fades  with  the  last  beats  of  his  discarded  drum,  

Leaving  nothing  but  the  remnants  of  bullets  for  war  that  no  one  won.        

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Lives  We’ve  Lived  

Laying  Silent  in  the  pavement.  I’m  taken  into  a  deep  coma  by  the  leaves  that  surround  me.  My  wings  broken  by  immense  winds  that  have  swept  away  my  last  breath.  It’s  been  awhile  since  I’ve  landed  here  and  my  bones  are  still  intact.  My  feathers  are  still  rustled  by  the  occasional  breeze  requesting  me  to  evacuate  the  premise.  Time  has  not  yet  done  its  job.  My  wilting  limbs  have  not  transferred  into  the  afterlife.  So  here  I  sit  awkward  and  timid  requesting  a  simplistic  way  out  of  this  Earth.  Cumulus  clouds  pass  over  me  never  ceasing  to  thank  us  for  the  lives  we’ve  

lived.  

   

                         

         

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LOVE                    

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Catfished    

Dream:    I’m  6’  4”  easy  to  get  along  with.  I  work  for  National  Geographic  taking  pictures  and  traveling  constantly.  I  am  ready  to  find  a  girl  to  make  the  trip  around  the  world  with  me.  I  want  a  woman  that’s  funny,  caring,  trustworthy,  and  just  

willing  to  go  with  the  flow  of  my  schedule.    

Reality:  I’m  5’  4”  missing  six  teeth  and  haven’t  showered  in  days.  I’ve  never  traveled  anywhere  but  to  the  nearest  grocery  store,  and  I  don’t  like  to  go  out  of  Indiana.  I  know  that  I  don’t  sound  appealing,  but  I  have  a  really  good  personality.  Personality  

is  key.  Could  we  still  be  friends?  

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Dear You,

We wrapped ourselves inside the velvet sheets waiting for the sun to rise.

Not uttering much, but grasped each other’s bodies.

Infatuation cooped us up inside the brick walls.

We wasted time with secrets looming in the shadows.

This is only a dream;

a dream for an older, more mature us.

The ticking of the clock slowed the pace of our time.

We rested with our hearts floating in the air.

Intertwining what limbs we could find in the pitch black;

we wrapped ourselves inside the velvet sheets waiting for the sun to rise.

I had waited many minutes

For you to understand that something about this was much more

We’re experiencing a situation that could take us into a different galaxy

A world where our stars could align perfect

And these series of moments could last an eternity

   

         

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Tidal  Waves    

We’re  constantly  aware  of  the  tidal  waves  inside  our  souls.  We’re  constantly  aware  of  the  sadness  ripping  parts  of  ourselves  into  dust.  

 Trials  and  tribulations  conjure  up  a  bacterium,  which  isn’t  released.  

 Time  

ticks  on,  and  our  silence  is  center  stage.  

 We  ‘ve  waited  for  someone  to  confide  our  innermost  thoughts  with.  

There  is  this  longing  to  be  heard  from  the  mountaintops.    

We’ve  all  remembered  moments  where  ceremonial  weeping  sessions  have  recovered  you  from  years  of  heartache.  With  retrospective  wavelengths  from  your  heart  pumping  faster  to  circulate  all  the  memories.  This  ensures  that  you’re  still  

moving.  The  circulatory  system  keeps  the  persistent  longing  for  something  down.  

 In  the  end  we  accumulate  a  sense  of  gratitude  for  seconds  that  could’ve  been  taken  

away.      

                                       

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 The  Magic  Pill  

In that moment it felt so clear. It was translucent to my eyes. Every beam, and

curve, was felt through the pupil of my eye. Refracting off the lens creating tides in the midst of my carnal nature. Humans gather bodies into the arms of the only man who mustered up the courage to reiterate words of affection into the beating drums of your inner walls. Folding time bombs into days and the likelihood of it all not lasting. It feels rather intimidating to believe moments spent with the heroine of your soul could embrace a multitude of sorrows for the tomorrows and todays.

Sorry is repeated so often that no one realizes they've said it by the time the creases of the lips have opened. Leaving minds to encapsulate the same "why" every waking moment. It's clear in time that the fault was neither yours nor theirs

but relativities. The stars alignment was shaken by a swift kick in the falling heartstrings. Resembling the lost intimacy now felt by someone else. "Why" is always an irrelevant question. It's the "what" we forget to ask when the tick has gone out of the passion. "What" is it that we must do to provide the adhesive to

mold our emotions into a capsule that never dissolves?                                    

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Moderato    

Moderato,  the  tempo  of  a  love-­‐struck  couple  on  an  afternoon  walks  through  an  empty  park,  

 no  rush.  

 The  pleasure  of  a  lover’s  company  the  only  goal.  

 No  destination,  

 just  a  small  journey  to  share  together.  

                                                           

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Dallas  Green’s  “I’m  Coming  Home”  Interpreted    

The  road  home  wasn’t  simple—  Strumming  for  crowds  in  different  lands.  

All  of  this  makes  me  miss  you:  laugh,  tears,  and  all.  Lately  I’ve  realized  the  section  of  my  heart,  which  misses  you  will  soon  be  mended.  

Tomorrow  I  get  to  be  with  you.    

Well  I’ve  seen  a  palace  in  London  I’ve  seen  a  castle  in  Wales,  but  none  of  that  matters.  

I’d  rather  wake  up  beside  you.    

The  farther  apart  we  are  the  more  I  need  you.  Minutes  and  moments  we’ve  shared  together  explain  themselves  

 I  know  that  we’re  taking  chances.  

Our  love  is  a  risk,  ,  which  I  am  willing  to  take.  

                                   

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Love  Isn’t  Always  Love    

Love  isn’t  always  love  Sometimes  it’s  the  misconception  manifested  by  two  naked  bodies  

Pressed  against  each  other—  Love  is  just  keeping  the  loneliness  at  bay.  

 Love  isn’t  always  love  

Sometimes  it’s  just  holding  a  stranger’s  hair  back  So  she  doesn’t  vomit  on  her  $12  dye  job  

Love  is  just  an  act  of  humanity    

Love  isn’t  always  love  Sometimes  it’s  just  a  first  impression  of  absolute  wonderment  

Catalyzed  by  a  charming  smile  and  a  sharp  wit  Love  is  just  a  childish  crush  

   

Sometimes  love  is  just  an  illusion.    

   

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 Death  

                     

     

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Lives  We’ve  Lived  

Lying  silent  in  the  pavement.  I’m  taken  into  a  deep  coma  by  the  leaves  that  surround  me.  My  wings  broken  by  immense  winds  that  have  swept  away  my  last  breath.  It’s  been  awhile  since  I’ve  landed  here  and  my  bones  are  still  intact.  My  feathers  are  still  rustled  by  the  occasional  breeze  requesting  me  to  evacuate  the  premise.  Time  has  not  yet  done  its  job.  My  wilting  limbs  have  not  transferred  into  the  afterlife.  So  here  I  sit  awkward  and  timid  requesting  a  simplistic  way  out  of  this  Earth.  Cumulus  clouds  

pass  over  me  never  ceasing  to  thank  us  for  the  lives  we’ve  lived.  

                                         

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Amongst  the  Mahogany    

The  golden  handle  rested  just  right;  with  the  patience  of  young  men  waiting  for  the  gun  to  fire  for  the  race  had  begun.  Life  stood  so  gentle  around  the  dead.  Tears  hit  the  floor  with  no  warning  as  monsoons  do  in  Asia.  Waiting  patient  on  the  cold-­‐hard  bench  I  watched  as  the  fluorescent  lights  reflected  off  the  sweat  that  dripped  from  every  man’s  forehead.  Silent  whispers  made  me  feel  as  if  this  was  the  telephone  game,  but  everyone  forgot  to  pass  the  secret  along  to  me.  My  mind  hadn’t  grasped  the  fact  that  the  whispers  were  in  remembrance.  Death  had  called  my  grandma,  and  she  replied  with  3  short  breaths  and  went  on  her  way.  We’d  all  gathered  as  a  family  who  only  spoke  when  tragedy  struck.  At  five  sitting  their  felt  like  an  eternity.  I  

believed  that  everyone  had  forgotten  that  we  would  see  her  soon  enough.  I  didn’t  dare  mention  this.  My  mom  seemed  too  sad  for  me  to  say  anything.  So  there  I  sat  ignorant  to  the  fact  that  the  lifeless  body  would  be  taken  into  a  graveyard,  and  the  only  time  we  could  speak  is  when  I  spoke  through  the  earth.  Death  was  much  

simpler  back  then.                                        

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Meaningless    

Every  minute  that  passes  should  have  meant  the  pain  ebbing  just  as  slowly    

But  these  five  years  passing  seem  to  have  only  fueled  the  sadness,  Like  a  cancer  infecting  healthy  cells  

 Here  I  sit,  in  a  vain  attempt  to  channel  these  negatives  emotions  into  something  

meaningful—  A  single  candle  lit  on  a  clear,  breezy  night,  

The  sound  of  my  peers’  debauchery  filling  the  air  Yet,  here  I  sit,  

These  tears  mean  nothing  This  makeshift  vigil  means  nothings  

 This  sadness  means  nothing  

 It  won’t  bring  the  life  back  to  your  eyes.  

       

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              PEACE          

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It’s  All-­‐Observable    

Just  a  tiny  “u”  shaped  slit  based  on  the  bottom  of  my  tooth.  This  abnormal  flaw  on  my  molars  made  me  revert  back  to  a  time  where  nothing  about  me  stood  out.  I  can’t  recall  any  past  lifetimes  where  my  differences  weren’t  observable.  This  one  gap  

made  me  think  about  three  major  things:    

War.    

Love.    

Death.    

None  of  which  I  consider  to  have  happened  because  of  anything  I’d  done.    

War:  A  method  of  regulating  peace:  Contradiction    

Love:  something  you  give/receive  (sometimes).    

Death:  It  happens  when  to  all  of  us  without  permission.    

All  of  these  in  particular  haven’t  made  me  happy.    

War:  I  haven’t  been  to  war:  Only  with  myself.    

Love:  Only  makes  me  sad.    

Death:  It’s  a  gradual  process,  and  that  scares  me  the  most.    

It’s  all  the  same    

Love.    

War.    

We  fight  for  or  against  all  of  these,  and  often  times  gain  nothing  in  return:  heartache.                      

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The  end  is  only  the  beginning.                                      

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Maggie Voss is a Sophomore photojournalism and creative writing major at Ball State University. She plans on writing more poems in the future hoping

that something will get published. I appreciate everyone who takes the time to enjoy/read my poems.